


Killed The Cat

by Aviss



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-08
Updated: 2011-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-14 13:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/149762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur has been talking to Eames for ages. Eames just wants an opportunity to talk back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killed The Cat

**Killed the Cat**

  
Not everything about preparing a dream heist is glamorous or exciting.

Actually, most of the work of a Point Man is neither: it involves more research in the waking world and hours spent in front of a computer than it does shooting projections and devising new and complicated ways to give his team a kick. Arthur knows what he does his vital for the job, and he doesn't mind the gruelling hours or the fact that he's likely to end up needing glasses in a near future. It's just part of what he does.

It also means that, more likely than not, he gets stuck with watching over his teammates' dream runs.

This doesn’t mean Arthur never goes under for training. He does. But he's a fast learner, and whatever job they're working on, he usually stays in the upper levels. And when they're not experimenting on him, he doesn't spend a lot of time asleep before the actual job. So he researches on his computer and watches over the rest of them while they practice in the dream.

What Arthur doesn’t tell is that he likes it.

He likes the quiet permeating whatever warehouse they are using at the time, and seeing his colleagues so peaceful and relaxed.

Arthur especially likes watching over Eames.

He can't remember when it started, probably in one of their first jobs together, when they worked with Mal and Dom. It could have been in the first.

What he can remember is sitting next to dreamers, checking the timer and the PASIV before pushing the dispenser and watching as their faces went slack. He had seen Dom and Mal asleep before, and aside from checking their vitals and making sure everything was as it should, he didn't pay them too much attention.

Eames though, Eames was different.

Arthur's first impression of Eames had been that he was a force of nature, unable to be still for one second. Eames paced while he talked, his hands always moving to illustrate some point, his gaze never stopping more than two seconds on anyone. When he listened he tapped his fingers against his thigh, his entire body thrumming with barely contained energy. Inside the dream he was even more fluid, his very skin changing with an ease that left Arthur reeling.

Nothing of this was present when he was asleep, and the change was so marked that Arthur found himself watching over Eames closely, taking in the way his features relaxed and his expression smoothened, how his breathing evened out and he was completely, absolutely _still._

It's the only time he is.

It's that contrast, more than anything else, that draws Arthur's attention to Eames.

Over the course of the years Arthur has learned more about Eames while he sleeps than he cares to acknowledge. He knows the exact shape of his mouth and the arch of his brows, he can tell if he's been properly sleeping by the shades under his eyes and the growth of his stubble. He knows when Eames is worried about something by his bitten nails and cuticles, and when he's overworking himself by the needle tracks on his wrists.

What Arthur doesn't know is when he started to _care._

He has no idea when he started to anticipate Eames joining them for a job, listening to his particular brand of genius and fending off Eames' perpetual flirting with feigned irritation.

And he has absolutely no clue what makes him talk to Eames while he's asleep.

In the beginning Arthur just makes some comment, things he wants to say out loud but doesn’t get the chance. Things he wonders about Eames but isn't curious enough to ask.

 _Was it difficult to find a shirt as hideous as this one or is it just an unhappy coincidence?_

 _Is that irritating thing with the pet names a British thing, or is it just you?_

 _You're brilliant, you know? It's baffling that you keep pretending to be less than that._

 _All your forges are curvaceous and pretty, almost like porn stars. Is that your type?_

 _You need to pick your jobs more wisely. Do you know how close to being killed you were in the last one?_

He would feel self-conscious about this, about this deviation from the cold and calculating persona he likes to project during a job. But it's something no one else knows, so he never gives it a second thought.

Soon he finds himself telling Eames things he would never admit out loud, safe in the knowledge nobody is actually listening.

 _If you stopped flirting with everyone for just one minute I might take you seriously._

 _When you kissed the mark in the last job I felt like punching a wall. I hate jealousy and you for making me feel it._

 _I hardly dream anymore, but when I do you're always in it._

 _You're dangerous. You're the only liar I want to believe in._

Those are the kind of things Arthur can't say out loud when Eames is listening, can't risk getting an answer to them.

Eames has made his interest clear, has let Arthur know that if he wants him he only has to ask. But Arthur has seen him working on a mark, has seen him flirting and laughing and charming everyone. And as much as he'd want to believe it, he can't.

He settles for watching, voicing his thoughts and getting only silence as a reply.

…

"Good job everyone, we'll meet tomorrow at eight at the agreed place," Dom says grabbing his coat and heading to the door with a last, approving glance at them.

Ariadne is not far behind, standing up the moment the words are out of Dom's lips, trailing after him like a lost puppy and asking a million questions. Arthur is happy to see how Dom has loosened up after getting back to his kids, and how well Ariadne fits in with them now. It makes it is easier to work with them.

Arthur is about to close his laptop and retire as well, enjoy a few hours by himself before they grab the mark in the morning and put him under.

"I'm going to stay for a few more minutes," Eames says, leaning down on his lounge chair and grabbing one of the IV lines. "There's a couple of minor details about my forge I want to polish."

Arthur frowns at him, suspicious. Eames is not the type to wait till the last minute to _polish_ a forge. He's a perfectionist, no matter what he wants people to think of him. They've been on this case for two weeks already and Arthur is sure Eames knows more about the mark's sister than the man himself.

And yet--it's the first chance's Arthur's had during this job to indulge in some Eames-watching; he's not going to waste it.

"I still have something to check here, I'll watch you," he says, moving his hand away from his laptop as if he had not been about to switch it off.

Eames nods and Arthur goes to the PASIV and checks the timer. "Fifteen minutes?" he asks, surprised. What would Eames need to do for three hours in the dreamscape?

"Yes, that will suffice. Thanks darling." Eames closes his eyes as Arthur depresses the button, his body going immediately limp.

Arthur drags a chair next to Eames' and sits there to watch him. He takes his time, going over every single feature slowly, comparing it with the ones already stored in his memory and cataloguing the little changes and what they tell him about Eames. He's clean-shaven for a change, his nails neatly trimmed instead of bitten and his hands soft and healthy. Arthur runs a finger lightly over Eames' knuckles, glad to see there's no evidence of fights in the past weeks.

Eames appears to be well rested and peaceful.

"I'm glad to see you've been taking care of yourself." And Arthur is, because there have been some times Eames has looked like he didn't, the circles under his eyes almost like bruises. "I worry when you don't."

There isn't much cause to worry know. Not since the Fisher job. They have enough money that they can choose carefully what jobs they take.

"I wish you'd work more with us, though. Not just because you're the best but because I enjoy having you around."

Arthur glances at the timer, checking how long he has before Eames is awake and he has to pretend again. There's still time.

"Sometimes I wish you weren't so attractive. It would make it easier for me to reject your advances."

He looks at the face, the dark brow and full lips, and leans forward, his breath ghosting over Eames' skin, his lips close to touching Eames' mouth. Arthur pulls back, resisting the urge to close the remaining inch. He'd never do something so crude as to kiss a sleeping team mate.

"I've dreamt about kissing you before. I know you'd let me but would you stay after that? For how long?" Arthur has thought about this. Countless times. He knows he won't do it because Eames is not the type to stay, and Arthur can't risk losing what they have. "I don't think I could stand it if you lied to me in this."

He continues his observation, his hands moving to brush over Eames' face, following the curve of his jaw and down his neck, resting lightly on his throat before withdrawing completely. He doesn't want to disturb Eames' sleep.

"Do you look so peaceful when you sleep naturally?"

"You just need to come with me tonight to find out, darling."

Arthur is out of the chair in a flash, his heart pounding against his chest so hard it's a miracle it hasn't escaped. Eames is still in the lounge chair, eyes open and clear and staring straight at Arthur's. The IV line is still stuck to his wrist, and a quick look confirms there's one minute left on the clock.

"You--" Arthur tries, feeling embarrassed and exposed and furious. "How long--"

"I had a nice and painless way out ready the moment I came to in the dream," Eames says calmly, removing the cannula from his arm and sitting up on the chair, his eyes never leaving Arthur. "I wanted to know what you had to say."

"You had no right--" Arthur begins and snaps his mouth shut at Eames' incredulous look.

He stands up, slowly approaching Arthur who takes a step back for each of Eames' until his back is against the wall. Arthur doesn't like being cornered like that, but he can't help himself, and this isn't the kind of situation he can extract himself from with a well-placed bullet.

He's pretty sure this is reality, no need to check his totem.

Eames stops two steps from him, close enough that Arthur can see the specks of green blending into the grey in his eyes but giving him enough space to flee if that's what he wants.

Arthur doesn't.

"You can ask me those questions now."

"You knew." A statement; Arthur is not going to insult either of them pretending now. It's out in the open, and lying now will make no difference.

"That you talked to me when I was asleep, darling? I've suspected for a while. Your voice has been filtering into my subconscious, distorted and far away, for ages. It took me some time to recognize it, and I could think of nothing but you for days after that. And yet you were always the same: composed and distant. I thought I was losing my mind until I noticed it always happened when you were watching over my dry runs. It wasn't too hard to put two and two together after that."

Arthur can feel an angry flush heating his face, and he doesn't know if he's more furious with Eames' for tricking him or with himself for being stupid and not realizing he could get caught.

Eames is not done, and Arthur can tell by his tone he's also angry. "It's terribly unfair of you to pose those questions when I can't give you a response. I've made no secret of what I feel for you, and yet you only talk to me when I'm not supposed to hear you." Eames laughs then, bitter and unamused. "And you say I'm the liar. I would not lie to you."

Arthur doesn't say anything; he doesn't know what to say to that, and that's a first for him, so he just stares at Eames. There are a million tells revealing how nervous Eames actually is, but one would need to have his every gesture memorized to be able to tell.

Arthur has them.

There's the way his eyes shift restlessly from Arthur's to a point behind him, only to be back less than a second later. His left hand is tapping against his right elbow, and his right index fingernail is scraping softly against his thumb. There's a light shake in his left leg, as if he's keeping himself unmoving by sheer willpower, and his mouth his turning down at the corners at Arthur's silence.

It's that, more than what Eames says, what makes Arthur believes this time Eames might be serious. He doesn't look like someone with nothing to lose.

He's so intent in his study of Eames' body language that he almost misses the words.

"You've got nothing to say, Arthur? You've been rejecting me for ages and I was going to give up because there is nothing I can do if you don't want me. _But you do._ You're just too scared to act on it." There's an odd note in Eames' voice, something he can't remember hearing before. It sounds like resignation. "This is it then, you're not interested in the answers?"

Arthur watches as Eames turns his back to him, walking stiffly to the door. He has to say something. He knows that the moment Eames leaves, watching is the only thing that will be left to him.

"Eames," he says, surprised that his voice sounds firm when he's feeling so many conflicting emotions. He asks the first thing that pops into his mind, cringing in embarrassment when he hears the words. "Do your lips feel as soft in reality as they do in my dreams?"

It's the right thing to say if the way Eames whips around and crosses the space between them in long strides is any indication. The answer is not verbal, and it's a definite yes. Yes they are, soft and yielding and warm, parting against Arthur's mouth easily, his tongue hot and expertly stealing the breath from Arthur's lungs.

Arthur clings to his shoulders, giving as good as he's getting, and pressing Eames against his body. There are a million questions clogging his throat, pushing to be answered now that Arthur has opened the floodgates. But this is not the time for talk; Arthur doesn't want to waste the breath necessary to form words when he can be using it for something far more pleasurable, like sucking Eames' tongue greedily and moaning against his mouth when a thigh presses against his crotch, forcing him to part his legs to allow it better access.

And it's not how he envisioned it in his dreams, with them frantically kissing in the warehouse and rutting against each other, but it's good nonetheless. Good enough for a start. It's hurried and dirty, and if Arthur could spare one brain cell to consider the state of his suit after this, he probably wouldn't do it. But he can't think past the way Eames' body fits against his, the heat and feel of his mouth on Arthur's neck. When he comes, shuddering in Eames' arms, the only thought in Arthur's head is when they can do it again.

They stay pressed against each other, kissing languidly for a bit longer, and when they disentangle there's a crooked smile on Eames' swollen lips.

"Was that a satisfying answer?"

Arthur straightens his clothes as best he can, wincing at the feel of his damp underwear. He moves past Eames, picking up his coat and heading to the door. "Yes, but my curiosity has not been sated. Not by far."

Eames is right behind him as he switches off the lights and closes the warehouse. Arthur should be emptying the place and cleaning it, but right now he has more pressing things on his mind. He can always come in the morning and do it before the job.

"You know what they say about curiosity?" Eames says halfway through the walk back to the hotel.

Arthur turns to look at him, smiling. "Yes, but I also know what they say about satisfaction."

Eames laughs the rest of the way.

…


End file.
